Illusions
by dancingirl87
Summary: Oliver wakes with a start, panting and unsure of where he is. Prompted by Flash Fiction Prompt #7.


Finally got the time to finish up this piece!

Takes place between S2 and S3.

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><p>Oliver wakes with a start, panting and unsure of where he is.<p>

There's sunshine warming his skin, he's stretched out over a bed that is far too comfortable to be the cot he's been crashing on for the past month, and there's a lightness in his chest that he hasn't felt in _years_.

He takes inventory of his surroundings. Sunlight plays over dust mites in the air. The walls are a pale green, the furniture dark. He's in someone's bedroom. It's not his own. It's homey and lived in and somehow seems familiar though he's positive he's never been there before.

What in the actual fuck is going on?

It's not the first time he's awoken in unfamiliar surroundings, and while he's sure it won't be the last, given his nighttime activities, it's a little disconcerting to wake up in what appears to be a normal bedroom. He doesn't have any memories of being attacked. Come to think of it, when he tries to remember what he did last night, there's just a yawning black hole.

He stumbles out of bed, discovering that he's naked except for his boxer briefs and lunges for the door, expecting it to be locked, to be a prisoner. His senses are on high alert, searching for threats in the immediate area. He doesn't sense anything, just that same feeling of familiarity.

The knob turns easily in his hand, but something catches his eye and his hand falls as he turns around. The dresser beside him is cluttered with various knickknacks and girly objects, including what looks like several memory sticks and an old arrowhead.

But it's the two framed photos sitting side by side that stopped him in his tracks.

His heart stutters in his chest as he picks up the first photo. He's pretty sure he's never seen himself look that carefree. Ever.

His chest tightens, his heart beating an erratic and fast rhythm. He gulps for air, his hands tightening on the frame until his knuckles are white.

How does this picture exist? It shouldn't exist. While he's surprisingly never been to Paris, he has definitely not stood in front of the Eiffel Tower with Felicity, smiling like an idiot.

Yet there they are, in black in white, wrapped up in each other and looking so in love Oliver half can't believe that it's him. And Felicity. Together.

He told her he loved her, and he meant it, but he knows that she didn't believe him. And why would she? He's done nothing but push her away and give her every reason not to believe him. And he knows it was wrong, but he just couldn't take the out she had given him on Lian Yu. He couldn't close that door. Even though it meant everything, she meant everything, he couldn't completely let her go.

But now they've apparently gone to Paris and the way he's looking at her in this picture tells him so much more than words.

His chest gives a mighty heave and the photo clatters back onto the dresser.

"Oliver?" a voice calls from outside. "Is that you?"

Suddenly, he's pretty sure he's never been so scared to open a door. What is he going to find on the other side? Some kind of sick fantasy being played out? Is he still dreaming? This is definitely not his life.

Steeling himself (what if they have her voice on some kind of recording?), he swings open the door and carefully makes his way down a short hallway. There's a weird smell in the air and as the hallway ends, he finds himself in a colourful living room.

It's empty but he can see the back of a blonde head moving around in the kitchen beyond. His heart is still beating crazily, senses on alert, waiting for the danger to leap out at him. Things can't really be this simple. Felicity cooking breakfast for him?

But then she turns and catches sight of him and her face just lights up. "You're up!" she exclaims, dusting her hands over the sink. "It's about time, my goodness. I know you sleep like the dead, but I thought I'd actually killed you for awhile there. I mean, not actually killed you because that would be bad, but like a death from orgasm thing, and okay that would actually bad too. Like bad, but in a good bad kind of way, but anyways. I'm glad you're up! I'm making waffles. Well, attempting. But you know, it's the thought that counts."

Oliver is frozen. This must be a dream. Is he hallucinating? High on some kind of drugs? Vertigo has been making a comeback. It must be something because Felicity just alluded to having sex - with him - and while she'd kept rambling, there'd been no awkward retractions or blushing or anything.

There must be a weird look on his face because Felicity gives him a strange look. She stacks what he guesses are supposed to be a waffles on a plate and places it on the counter beside her. "Oliver. Is everything okay?"

Oliver gulps, then strides forward. "What day is it?" he demands, hands desperately clutching onto Felicity's shoulders. It's like everything he's ever dreamed of is dangling in front of him and if it isn't real he just needs to know because thinking he has it all, and then having it ripped away is too much to fathom. Too much for him to bear.

Felicity gazes up at him, blue eyes open wide, and he can see confusion swimming there but she simply answers his question. She's always been one to roll with the punches so it's not surprising that she just goes with him when the first thing he does on a seemingly normal morning is demand answers to ridiculous questions.

"It's Sunday." Her voice is even but her hands shake as they rise to cover his chest, their warmth seeping into his skin and calming the panic bubbling in his chest. "It's Sunday, and yesterday was Saturday. We spent the day with Digg and Roy and we took down some of the most disgusting criminals who have chosen to make Starling City their home. And now they'll be calling Iron Heights home for the rest of their natural lives. So, win for us." She meets his eyes, soothing him somewhat. "And then we came home. We ate Chinese because neither of us felt like cooking. We went to bed, and- well, we already went over that part."

A faint pink tints her cheeks as she smiles up at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Her story makes sense. But it's like someone has taken what he remembers of his life, and then tossed a wrench in it named Felicity Smoak. It's everything he's hoped for in the darkest recesses of his heart. Everything he's pushed away, forbidding himself from dreaming of because he doesn't deserve something this good. He has done too many terrible things to be rewarded with this.

She must see something in his eyes because she opens her mouth and off she goes. It's all he can do to keep up with her. "You do not look okay. Did you have another nightmare? Is there someone watching us? Was it drugs? I feel like it's always about drugs. It's getting kind of repetitive, and I never thought those words would come out of my mouth in reference to illegal narcotics. Or any kind of narcotics really. Because that is just-"

It happens without any thought.

One minute he is trying to follow the rambling train of thought coming out of Felicity's unpainted lips and the next he's pulled her body flush against his and has swallowed whatever words were next.

As far as he can remember, they've never done this before, but it's like his body knows exactly what to do. His hands find their place immediately - one on her back, pressing her against him and the other burrows its way into her hair. He tilts her head back to just the right angle and she makes a little mewling sound and pushes herself up on her toes and he doesn't think much after that, except to wonder why he had denied himself this in the first place.

This is everything. Felicity. She is everything. She's his whole world and his senses are overwhelmed with her but he feels so _happy_ that he wouldn't have it any other way.

They break apart gasping.

Felicity opens her mouth to say something but Oliver jumps in before she can. "I love you." The words tumble from his mouth, easier than the first time, easier than anything else ever has. He knows it's the truth, can feel it deep inside of him, this tugging thread that pulls him to her. He repeats it again, desperate that she know that he means it. He may not remember exactly how they got to this point but he'll be damned if he lets her go again.

"Oliver? Can you hear me?"

He pulls himself out of his thoughts and tries to focus on Felicity. She's smiling up at him, but her lips aren't moving. There is so much emotion pouring out of her, like she is begging him to understand what she's trying to tell him. They are usually so good at saying things without actually saying them, but it's like he's forgotten how to listen to her.

He hears his name again and this time he is positive that it's Felicity's voice. The words echo around him, surrounding him in a blanket of vowels and consonants. He looks frantically around, searching for the source of the words.

Felicity's hands are moving, touching his chest, his shoulders, his face, but it's as though she's faded away and he's just left with the barest of his senses. The scent of her shampoo lingers in the air and he clings to it, determined not to let her go.

"Felicity? FELICITY!"

He's yelling, straining against whatever is holding him down, voice tearing out of his throat. There are hands on him, large and warm against his biceps, small and cool against his face. He gasps for breath, focuses on the hands, concentrates on where each individual finger connects with his skin.

Gradually, his racing heart begins to slow and the large hands holding him down disappear. He takes a great shuddering breath and opens his eyes.

Felicity's face hovers above him, a bright light shining behind her head. It gives her a halo and he thinks he has never seen someone so beautiful. Her eyes are concerned, rimmed with red and shadowed with dark circles. He's pretty sure she's been crying and his chest clenches because he hates it when she cries. Especially because of him.

"Oliver? Can you hear me?" The words stir a memory inside him. Felicity turns away to shout a command at someone, then returns to him, hands against his cheeks, a tremulous smile on her face. "Do you remember what happened?"

He pushes himself to sit up and her hands fall away. His head spins once, then settles. His hands rest on his knees and he stares at them. "I- I don't really remember… We were taking down that group, the uh…" He lets the words trail off, because really, the last thing he remembers is being so wrapped up in Felicity that nothing else mattered, their bodies pressed so closely together that he couldn't tell where he ended and she began.

And the incredible happiness he'd felt. Like he was finally home.

He knew it had been too good to be true.

Felicity frowns, her hand tracing his brow. He flinches when she touches a particularly tender spot. "You took a pretty good hit there. Knocked you right out." She pauses. "Scared me," she adds in a softer voice. She meets his eyes as her hand traces down his face.

He watches the emotions play across her face as she steps closer to him. "Digg and Roy brought you back here, but you were pretty out of it. And then we couldn't wake you up, and Digg figured you probably had a concussion and you're supposed to keep people with concussions awake, but we couldn't seem to wake you up until you just started yelling and thrashing around…"

She stops and looks down, at where she's moved to stand between his legs. They haven't been this close in weeks. She swallows and he watches the graceful muscles of her throat working, trying to get her emotions under control.

She's within his reach, but yet so far away. His chest hurts, looking at her. It's like he's had something torn away that he hadn't even realized that he wanted. And he wants it. He wants her. He wants _everything._

He tries to find words to comfort her, but he feels like he needs some comfort himself, and so he simply wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his body. She presses her head against his heart and he thinks that she's listening to its steady beat.

He breathes in the scent of her, and he loses track of time as they simply stand in the cold of the Foundry, two people wound tightly together, taking what comfort the other offers.

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><p>Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought in the comments.<p> 


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